Without
by Kaisa
Summary: What if Sam didn't come back for Dean in Scarecrow? Alternate ending, Deancentric. The finale chapter is now up.
1. Chapter 1

Yay, my first Supernatural ficcie to be posted! (Not the first one written, though... Just the first one to be posted...). This, apparently, is an alternate ending for Scarecrow. Cuz for some reason... I don't know, this little story just popped up in my head and I just had to write it.

So, warnings include - Spoilers for Scarecrow, and...mmm, I think that's it... Maybe some stuff before that. Just be careful. I also used the 'F' word a few times, so if you're not comfortable with that, um, well, imagine it being 'darn' or something...

This story really isn't that long, just so you know. I wrote it while on vacation two months ago... And...um... It's not the best...but it's not the worst, right? At least I have better spelling/grammar ability than my brothers!

...right...

I don't own Supernatural. If I did, there would be so much more angst. So much, it'd leave you in tears every week! Ahh, one can dream, can't they?

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"Sam, let's go! Our bus should be here any minute now!" Meg called over to Sam, who was still trying to reach his brother.

Sam looked up to her, worry etched all over his face. "But Dean still won't answer his—"

"You know, after what you told me, I think you should stay away from that stupid brother of yours," Meg advised, cutting him off. "Just forget about him. I bet he's busy now, and there's nothing to get worked up about. Don't you want to go to California?"

Sam thought about it for a long time. She was right, Dean could be busy… But what if he was in trouble? Serious trouble? What would Sam do if something happened to Dean?

_Dean is an experienced hunter,_ Sam tried to assure himself. _Even if he's in trouble, he'll have no problem helping himself out. I mean, he's been on plenty of solo missions before, right?_ He nodded and cancelled the call he was trying to make to his brother.

Meg cocked her head towards the bus stop. "Well, come on!"

_He'll be fine,_ Sam thought to himself before he followed Meg.

------------------------

"You don't have a plan, do you?" Emily asked, glancing over to Dean, her expression fearful.

Dean frowned at her, and didn't bother answering.

"Wait…" Emily tried pulling her wrists free of their restraints. "I think I might… I might…be able to…wriggle my way out of here…"

"Well then wriggle!" Dean urged. "If slip out, I'll get us out of here."

It took many long, painful minutes, but eventually Emily somehow managed to squeeze out of the ropes that held her. Dean let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. He was surprised, and he wondered if maybe some lucky god had blessed them.

Emily, once completely free, scrambled over to where Dean was tied, and she undid his ropes as fast as her nimble little fingers could go.

Dean threw off the ropes and grabbed Emily by the wrist, ignoring the way she trembled. "Okay, let's get the hell out of here before that freaky scarecrow gets off his—oh shit…" Dean had glanced to where the scarecrow was supposed to be hanging, but the thing was, there was no scarecrow in sight.

Emily's eyes darted around fearfully. "Please get me out of here."

Dean looked at her, a dark anger filling his mind. "Damn that fucking Sammy," he hissed to himself. "If only he had…" He shook his head, clearing it of the anger. He could never blame anything on Sam, no matter how angry he was. He knew it was his fault that he was in this situation—_his _fault and _his_ alone. He pulled Emily along as he ran as fast as he could out of the orchard.

They had only made it so far when they found themselves surrounded by the very people who had put them there in the first place. They had shotguns—or at least, most of them did. Emily's aunt wasn't armed. Dean didn't see a way out of this one. He couldn't fight them all _and_ a bloodthirsty Pagan god. He stood protectively over Emily. If some damn _thing_ wanted to kill completely innocent people, then it would have to go through him first.

Emily's aunt opened her mouth, but before any sound came out, the scarecrow came up from behind her and attacked her. He jabbed his metal hook straight into the woman's heart, and ripped the hook out again, the weapon drenched in blood. The townsmen stared on in shock, and then ran off. The only ones left were Dean, Emily, and Emily's uncle, who only gawked in horror.

He soon recovered, ran behind Dean, and shoved his forward.

"Here's your male sacrifice!" he yelled.

The scarecrow raised his hook, thick droplets of blood dripping from it, and stabbed it down into Dean's chest—or he would have, but Dean dodged, and the blow only just grazed the left side of his face, leaving a long, nasty cut. Dean didn't even flinch at this, but shouted, "Get out of here, Emily! I'll meet up with you!"

The girl didn't even hesitate before she ran like the wind.

The scarecrow looked from Dean to Emily's uncle and back to Dean again, looking indecisive—or at least, it struck Dean as indecisiveness. The other man, Dean had realized, seemed to have frozen up in fear. This gave Dean the perfect opportunity to run, and he took it. He ran straight out of the orchard, a loud scream echoing out behind him.

The scarecrow had received its sacrifices.

---------------------------

The next morning, after Dean and Emily had burned down the first tree with a ton of gasoline and a few matches, Dean dropped off Emily at the bus station. Dean didn't really know what the girl was going to do now, but he had wished her luck and then went to his car.

After he had sat down, he picked up his cell phone and opened it up. The phone had been beeping for a long time now, indicating that he had missed a call.

_47 missed calls_, the screen read. Dean's eyebrows shot up. Forty-seven calls? He bet that if he had counted all the times he had been called in his lifetime, it'd amount to…about fifteen or so. But forty-seven?

Dean frowned. _Of course, all those calls came from Sam. I wonder what he wants… Maybe he wanted to check in— to see if the scarecrow had killed me or not yet._

He cringed at the thought of his little brother. When he had left him, just standing on the road like that, he had felt so _guilty_, and utterly hopeless. He had the feeling that he wouldn't see his baby brother for a long time. When Sam had told him that he wanted to be left behind like that, it hurt a lot—definitely not as much as it did when Sam had left for college, but it still hurt.

Suddenly, his phone began to ring.

It was Sam.

Dean stared at the phone, a sad look passing his face. _I can't believe he would want to talk to me… He's the one who wanted to leave me again, so why even bother calling? _He pressed the ignore call button, tossed the phone into the passenger seat, and finally started up the car.

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Okay, okay... Umm... Reviews are greatly appreciated, thanks, thanks. Does anyone want more? Want me to stop? I'd like to know.

(Nervous-ness is clouding my brain...can't think straight. Reviews always clear my head though, lol)


	2. Chapter 2

hi..

Thank you ALL who have reviewed. (cake and cookies for reviewers. Whoever read, liked, but didn't review gets...broccoli!...okay, that's mean... you guys get ONE cookie)

I don't own Supernatural. (sigh) I think it's cruel, how we have to say that we don't own it every time we post a story or a new chapter. Every time we say it, it just reminds us that we DON'T own Supernatural, and then we think about the wonderful things that would happen if we DID.

And Jen, I think this chapter answers your question :)

Let's read.

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Sam bit his finger anxiously. Dean hadn't answered the call that Sam had just tried to make, and from what Sam could tell, his brother ignored the call. Which must mean that Dean didn't feel like talking. But at least it meant his brother was alive and well.

He sighed, rubbing his forehead tiredly. He had just arrived in California. Unfortunately, he and Meg had parted ways, because apparently, there were two buses that departed at the same time, and Meg had accidentally gotten on the bus heading for Ohio.

At that moment, Sam was heading for the payphone that John had called from. He figured that maybe he would get some idea as to where John was from there.

He wasn't mistaken. He found the phone booth, and just across the street, there was a motel that looked very cheap and really crappy—a perfect place to look if you were looking for a Winchester. Sam went inside and went up to the front desk, where an elderly man waited for him.

Sam gave the man the smile he always gave when he was trying to get information, and began to describe his father. Maybe, just maybe, John had passed through…

The old man squinted his eyes, looking in deep thought. Then he met Sam's gaze again. "You mean John Fisher?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, yeah, he's my dad."

The old man stretched out. "Mm-hm, your father is in the room at the end of the hall. Number eight. There are two beds in there. Would you like me to check you in?"

Sam nodded again. "Yes. My name is Sam…Sam Fisher."

The man yawned and waved in the direction of the hall. "Okay there, sonny, go on in… I'm pretty sure the guy is in there right now."

Sam thanked the man and trotted down the hall, growing nervous. He hadn't seen his father in years. And, finally, they were going to be face-to-face for the first time since their last argument. Sam had to admit, he would feel a lot better if Dean were here with him… When Dean was there, he'd always seem to bridge the gap that was sometimes present between Sam and John.

Sam stopped right in front of John's door. He knew this was the right place, because if he looked hard enough, he would spot the salt grains that lined the threshold. He raised a shaking hand and carefully knocked a few times on the door.

Sam listened carefully and he heard a grunt from the inside.

"Who is it?"

Sam froze at his father's question. Who is it? He shuddered and tried to quell the emotions that bubbled up inside of him. "It's…it's Sam."

Seconds later, the door flung open, and John was right in his face, staring at him. He looked at his youngest for a long time before peering over Sam's shoulder. Sam realized that he must have been looking for Dean.

"Dean's not here, Dad," Sam said. "I came alone."

John's eyes snapped back to his. "Your brother let you come here alone?" he asked tightly, bringing Sam into the room and shutting the door.

"…Yeah."

John turned to Sam and glared. "Don't you _ever_ listen to what I say? Where is your brother?"

"Were you _ordered_ him to go," Sam shot back hotly.

"And of course, he went there, and then just let you come here alone. God, what a…" John's face turned dark. "I thought I told you, Sam, not to come here."

"But, Dad!"

"No buts! This is _way_ too dangerous for you! I know you want revenge, son, but I don't want you to get killed!"

"Dad, I'm not going to leave you. You're going to need me, because I know you can't take down this thing yourself!"

John's dark look held its ground. "I'm going to call your brother right now, and then you're going to _go with him._"

Sam shook his head in disbelief. "Don't call Dean all the way out here! If I really wanted to leave, I'd just take a bus!"

"He's coming here so he can take you, and _make sure _you don't come back," John said angrily. "Besides, I'd like to speak to him, because _clearly_ you aren't the only one who doesn't listen to me."

"What the hell are you talking about!"

But John was already storming out, striding over to the payphone across the street. Sam followed closely, and even when John closed the phone booth door in his face, he could still hear the words that his father spoke to Dean clearly. His father's tone took on a dangerous air, and it definitely seemed to say _you're in deep shit._

_--------------------_

Dean didn't bother to look and see who was calling before he picked up his phone and flipped it open. He knew only Sam would call him, so he answered with an irritated, "What?"

"Dean," his father's gruff, but apparently pissed off, voice answered him, making Dean sit up straighter in his seat. "Get your ass over here right now." And then his father rambled off directions to some crap motel in Sacramento.

"Dad, what's—"

"Dean, don't you _dare_ question me! Come here, right _now_!"

"Yes sir," Dean replied instantly.

_Click_.

Dean took a few deep breaths, trying to calm down. _Damn it, it must be Sammy,_ he thought to himself. He bit his lip hard. _Well…I can't run away, now can I? I'm just going to have to haul ass over there and rescue my baby brother…again…_

_----------------------_

Sorry for the short chappy...

And I needed to get rid of Meg, seeing how she's a evil-bitchy-demon and all... It might have been cheesy, her going off to Ohio, but jeez, I needed to get rid of her ass... (...yeah...)

Please review. The more reviews I get, the quicker the next chapter will be up (I have it all primed and ready, if you're ready to have it...)


	3. Chapter 3

...An update. Finally.

Now that the second season is on the horizon, I would LIKE to finish up this story, and begin posting my other one. (s) But I'll tell you about that in a moment.

I don't own Supernatural...

* * *

It was pretty late that night when Dean finally arrived at the motel. He checked in with the half-asleep old man, and went down the hall to room eight. When he reached the door, he could practically feel his father's scorching hot anger.

Without hesitation, Dean raised a hand and knocked on the door, clearly, filled with the fakest of confidence

It was Sam who opened the door for him. But instead of answering Sam's apologetic puppy look, Dean strode into the room, not even glancing at his little brother.

The anger he had felt had definitely not been his imagination. When John spotted his eldest, his anger felt so hot it practically burned Dean.

John shot up from his seat—he had been sitting on the cushioned chair in the corner—and came right up to Dean. "What the hell were you thinking, Dean!" he demanded. "What have I told you, over and over, for the past twenty-two years? One order, and you fail to comply—you always fail to understand the importance of this. You can't just ignore it some days!"

Dean resisted the urge to recoil, to let his eyes fall from his father's. He wasn't a little kid anymore. Fear wasn't an option—it was _never_ an option. He couldn't show any emotion. Sam, on the other hand, looked a little afraid himself.

"You let your brother come after me. You let him go _alone!_ Do you have any idea what could've happened? He could've been _killed_! I don't know what the hell you were thinking, but I…I can't believe you could be so…be so _stupid!_"

Dean held his ground. "Dad, I'm sorry. We had an argument and—"

"You had an argument. So you just let him walk off, knowing full well that he had a great chance of being killed. And you were so _angry_ at him, you didn't even care if he did get killed." John shook his head and laughed. "I'm so glad I raised a fucking failure! You can't even do the _one_, most important thing!"

Dean was close to flinching, but he knew his father wouldn't have it.

"I'll say it one last time. PROTECT YOUR BROTHER!" John roared. "Now get the fuck out of here, and make sure Sammy doesn't come looking for me. It's too dangerous for us to be together right now."

Dean turned away promptly. "Come on, Sam, let's go…," he whispered, and it was then when John finally realized the damage he had caused.

After Sam and Dean had left, John slammed a fist into the wall. He had once again succeeded in pushing his boys farther away.

* * *

Dean walked in silence to the car, with Sam just treading at his heels. Sam himself had been a little surprised at the scene he had just witnessed—so surprised he had found himself unable to speak. Their father yelling at _Dean_ of all people. Sam had never seen it happen before, and yet, he had the feeling that it had happened before… And with Dean's unnatural silence, even after they were miles away from the motel, Sam knew it must have hit his brother hard. Nothing showed through that rock-solid front that Dean had on though.

"What happened to your face?" Sam asked quietly, addressing the cut down the side of Dean's face that Dean hadn't had enough time to tend to. The blood that had been dripping down his face had dried up, and it only made the thing that much worse to Sam's eyes.

"If you care so much, then you should have been there to see it happen," Dean replied evenly. Even though Sam took the comment as an accusing one, Dean made it sound like he was discussing the change in weather.

"It was the scarecrow," Dean went on. "The stupid people got me and tied me and the teenage girl I met there to trees, so we could be the next contestants on If You Guessed Dead, Then You'd Be Right. Luckily enough for us, we managed to get out… And then we were stopped by our favorite brainless scarecrow…and… Well, it's over now, we killed it, so nothing to worry about."

"I'm sorry I wasn't there to help," Sam apologized.

"Huh? Why, because you finally realized that going after Dad was as bad an idea as I said it was? It was completely pointless, and all you accomplished was wasting my gas so I could run over here to get your ass."

_I also made Dad yell at you…,_ Sam thought to himself guiltily. He wanted to apologize for that too, but he wasn't exactly sure how he should go about it.

The conversation with their father was far from the back of Dean's mind, as well, and the words that John had said echoed over and over in his mind, and he knew this would never go down—it would never stop hurting him.

_I'm so glad I raised a fucking failure!_

Dean gripped the wheel harder, determined not to let Sam see how the conversation had really affected him.

Sam seemed to sense what Dean was thinking. "You know, Dean… What Dad said…he didn't mean it, okay? You're not a failure."

Dean hid the skeptical look he felt in his bones and only glanced at Sam with an impassive expression. "No, Sam… Dad was right." He shook his head. "He was so right."

"No, Dean! He wasn't! You know how Dad gets when he's angry! Everything he said, he didn't mean any of it!"

"You don't _know_ Dad like I do," Dean pointed out, his voice as emotionless as before. "He means _everything_ he says—at least a little bit."

"Dean, I can't believe… I mean, jeez, how could you actually believe something like that if you…" Sam paused for a moment as it struck him—it struck him hard. "If you don't believe it yourself."

"I only believe it because he does," Dean half lied. "But enough with that, okay? I don't really want to talk about that."

Sam looked down, ashamed. If he had only listened to Dean, maybe none of this would've ever happened. Now Dean was quiet—way too quiet, too quiet for Sam to handle.

Sam stared at his hands, and after five minutes of suffocating silence, he looked up to his brother. "Hey, Dean, you did do an awesome job with that scarecrow," Sam commented. He knew that normally, trying to boost his brother's confidence was a dangerous thing, but now he was desperate. "I almost thought I would've had to come and save your ass, but you did super without me."

Sam's attempt to lighten Dean up died with the skeptical look that Dean shot him.

"_Super_ and _awesome_? What did _you_ have for breakfast? Screws?"

Sam shrugged. "I'm just saying, man… I don't know if _I_ could've done it alone."

"That's because you're a geeky college-boy, and you never know what you're doing when it comes to stuff like that." Dean sighed. "Don't worry about it… I only barely got out. And that thing wasn't even that serious." He shook his head in disappointment. "I should've… I'll have to be way better if we're ever going to go after the thing that killed Mom… If Dad ever lets us help him when he finds it that is…" And with that, the car fell silent again.

* * *

You know, a mad Johnny--if you think of it--IS a scary, scary, scary Johnny. (shudders)

So, there are two more chapters. Do you want 'em?

And once this story is finished, what shall I post first? The first chapter of Escape? Or...the one-shot I have right here... Both are Dean-centered, and I'll definitly get them both out soon... hmmmmmmmmmmmm...

R&R pleeeeeeeeease.


	4. Chapter 4

Quick next chapter. Congrats, Kaisa.

I don't own Supernatural! But we are ALL excited for the big, huge, major season premiere this week! (YES!) I'll have a nice little sit down with the TV, with a bowl of Peanut M&Ms and my little brothers, and we'll all huddle around the huge TV and watch it together.

And dammit, I shouldn't be updating today. I have a HELL of a lot of homework to do, that is due tomorrow morning. I have biology, writing, lit, and French... Hot damn. So please consider yourselves lucky that you are getting this chapter today.

Let's read, shall we?

(Warnings: Spoilers for Scarecrow (those spoilers already passed), and spoilers for Asylum (this chapter))

* * *

It might have been a few hours when Sam couldn't take the silence anymore. He hated the way Dean's face looked so fine when he clearly wasn't. He hated the way his brother 'dealt' with his problems.

He looked over to his brother. "I'm sorry," he murmured.

The sudden break in the silence didn't seem to faze Dean. He only turned down his music a few decibels and threw Sam a sideways glance. "For what, Sammy?"

Sam took a deep breath. "If it weren't for me, you wouldn't have gotten yelled at by Dad…"

Dean gave him an incredulous look. "So? You're apologizing for _that?_ Sam, the man only told me what he felt I needed to hear. I would've gotten the talk anyway. Today wasn't all that bad, actually. He only got a little carried away because he's under a lot of stress. You know that, Sam. It's not an easy job, searching for this demon."

"No son needs to hear their father calling them a failure!" Sam protested angrily. "This is one of the reasons I don't understand why you worship the guy. All he ever does is insult you or not even pay attention to you at all!"

"You're not that much better, Sam," Dean shot back.

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

Dean shook his head. "Never mind."

"But still… God, that man really pisses me off sometimes! I can't believe you can respect the man after all that's happened. I mean, he practically raised you to be a frickin' brick wall. Sometimes it's like you're not even human!"

Dean was silent for a long time. A long time he sat there, staring out the windshield, Sam's words boring into his mind.

Sam instantly regretted his words.

But then, Dean began to chuckle. It was a soft thing at first—so soft Sam had thought he had imagined it—but it steadily grew.

Sam stared at him as if he had just lost his mind. "Dean?"

Dean choked back the laughs. "Not human… Man, what a nice thing to say."

Sam frowned. "I'm just saying, it's like you're not human sometimes. Because you're unreadable, and it's like nothing is supposed to hurt you."

"Why thank you, Sammy, I'm glad I've finally achieved my goal of being seen as inhuman."

"What? Wait—no… I mean… I take that back. What I'm _trying_ to say is that it was Dad who taught you not to show any emotions. I think that's wrong, and he was only tryin—"

"Whoever said it was Dad who decided that?" Dean cut in. "Sure, he might've had a part in it, but…"

"And then he just yells at you with no regard whatsoever for your feelings!"

Dean snorted. "Sam, you sound like a chick."

"How is he supposed to know that's he's hurt you when you won't let him know?"

Dean glared. "What the hell is that supposed to mean? Sure, Dad, he might've hurt me sometimes, but at least he didn't frickin' _shoot_ me!" he blurted out.

Sam fell silent, and turned to gaze out the window. How could he ever forget about the way _he_ hurt Dean?

Dean looked over to his brother and his face softened. "…Sorry for bringing it up… I didn't mean…"

Now it was Sam's turn to glare. "Why are _you_ apologizing? You were the one who was hurt, not me. _I_ should apologize."

"Okay, fine, I won't apologize. I shouldn't have brought it up. Just drop it, okay?"

"Why won't you talk to me about it?"

"Because there isn't anything to discuss," Dean replied, sounding like he had been over this with Sam a million times already—which, of course, he had. "We both know it was Ellicott's doing. And I know you didn't…you didn't mean what you said to me." _God, please don't see through that lie…_

Sam nodded slowly. "Yeah…yeah… Okay…"

* * *

Later that night, Sam couldn't get to sleep. They had stopped at some random motel, so at least there were beds to sleep in instead of the car. And from personal experience, Sam could say that anyone would be sore after sleeping in the passenger seat, so he was happy to be in a bed that night.

Sam almost jumped when he heard Dean turn in his sleep suddenly. Usually his brother slept like a log, barely moving all night long. Dean didn't have nightmares as far as Sam knew. But it was then when Sam figured out that he didn't know as much as he had originally thought.

"No!" Dean shouted, stirring in his sleep.

Sam's eyes widened, and he went to his brother's side and gently began to shake him. "Dean, Dean wake up!"

"NO!" Dean yelled again, this time more forcefully. "I…I won't fail him!"

Sam shuddered involuntarily.

_I'm so glad I raised a fucking failure!_

Then Dean's thrashing body fell limp. "I'm sorry…I'm sorry, I'm sorry…," he whispered. "I failed you… I'M SORRY!" His breathing seemed to shake his entire body, and Sam only shook harder.

"Dean, wake up!" he said, louder this time. "Please wake up!"

Dean did wake up at this, his eyes snapping open and fixing them on his younger brother. "Sammy?" he asked, looking somewhat unsure.

"Yeah, it's me," Sam answered in relief. "Nightmare?"

Dean shook his head in a sarcastic-looking 'yeah right' kind of way. "Nah." He sat up and stretched out. "What would make you think that?"

"Well for one, you were saying how you wouldn't fail."

Dean froze in mid-stretch, but then continued on as if it were nothing. "So you heard _that_, huh?" He leaned back against the headboard.

Sam nodded slowly, and didn't bother adding what else he had heard. "You really believe him, don't you? You really believe you're a failure."

Dean looked down and closed his eyes for a moment, not responding.

"You're not—"

"Shut up," Dean shot darkly, his eyes snapping open and shooting Sam a stare from beneath his eyelashes.

"What?" Sam was taken aback by this tone.

"Shut up," Dean repeated. "Don't talk. Don't say a word. I don't really need to hear this from you too." He lay back down and turned away from Sam, drawing the blankets over his shoulders.

"You are not," Sam began firmly, "a failure."

Dean shook his head inwardly. Of course _Sam_ would say that. "Whatever, Sammy."

"No," Sam spat angrily. "No." He was angry at this whole situation. Dean didn't deserve to feel this way, and their father had no right to make him. "We're not done talking." And he ripped away the blankets. "This isn't resolved."

"Sam, remember who your family is. Nothing gets resolved, _especially_ not with me," Dean grumbled.

"Dean, I don't know how much stuff you've got bottled up inside—"

"What! What does something like _that_ have to do with _anything?_"

"—but why can't you talk to me about some of that stuff before you explode in front of someone else? Like Dad? Or a complete stranger?"

Dean sat up again and rubbed the back of his neck. "I've got it all under control… I'm not going to be blowing up anytime soon."

"We're all we have," Sam tried desperately.

"And I think we'd be better off if at least one of us remains sane," Dean added. "I'm not going to weigh you down with my problems."

"I think I can handle myself, Dean."

Dean shook his head, not believing. "Sam, I see you worrying over me right now, and you can barely handle that. With you going all Doctor Phil on me, you can't think straight. What's going to happen when we're in the middle of a hunt and you decide to worry about me _then_? That's right, you're going to go all screwy on me and probably wind up dead."

"And let Dad scream at you over my grave? Not a chance."

Dean was silent for a long moment, his eyebrow arching. "What is it going to take, Sam? What's going to get you over your little dilemma?"

"Just talk to me, man. Talk to me about what happened with Dad."

Dean looked at him expectantly, his head cocked to one side.

Sam wondered what that look was about. "…Unless there's something else that's bothering you…?"

"No," Dean lied. It was better to stop Sam while he was head. "Just wondering if that was all you were worried about. Because, man, you get worked up over the littlest things."

Sam half nodded. "I guess… But right now…"

"Yeah, I know. You want to know how I _felt_." Dean almost laughed at the word, as if emotions were things that were never supposed to be discussed. "You want to know how it _felt_ when Dad yelled at me like that. Okay. Let me put it in terms that you might understand. How would you feel if Dad—or hell, even me—yelled at you, practically told you that you were completely useless? How would you _feel_ if you were practically told that your life meant nothing, that you weren't needed?

"I'll tell you, Sam, it isn't fun being yelled at. You should know, since you and Dad argue all the time."

"Yeah, but at least I argue back! All you do is just stand there and _let_ him scream in your face!" Sam snapped angrily.

"And what would I say to him if I did yell back? Anything I say will only make him angrier. It's not going to solve anything! It may hurt less when you yell back, but… It makes a difference when he's telling the truth…"

Sam shook his head in disbelief, speechless.

"I know you don't believe that. But he doesn't hurt you, does he? Remember the time you argued with him, a few months before you left for college? That time he kept yelling about how he needed you to help hunt down the demon, and how you couldn't just leave?"

Sam nodded, although he was a little surprised to find out that Dean remembered that, especially because he didn't remember seeing Dean during that particular argument.

"At least he said that he needed you," Dean said. "All he ever says to me is to protect you. Or how I screwed up. Or how this is 'all my fault'. You might not realize it, but he loves you so damn much, Sam!" He paused, letting this sink in. "He was _so proud_ of you, and how you got into Stanford. He was so proud that at least one of his boys was smart enough…to actually…" Dean sighed, his eyes lingering on his little brother. "God, he never shows it, but he is so damn proud."

Sam felt a lump grow in his throat as sadness grew in his mind. His father was proud of him? His father _loved him so damn much?_

"Don't cry on my, Sammy," Dean warned. "I've already had enough chick-flick moments for today."

"Dean, I'm sorry," Sam answered quietly. "I'm sorry you feel that way. I'm sure…I know Dad's proud of you too. How can he not be? You're…you're _perfect_!"

Dean smirked. "Yeah, the perfect little soldier. I'm not an individual—I'm just a living pawn who only follows orders. But you, Sam… You…you're _alive_. You got to _live_. It's not like I'm jealous. I swear, I'm proud of you too. I'm only saying that it hurts sometimes when Dad yells at me. Okay? Can you deal with it?"

Sam was silent for a long time. "So that's it? You're okay now?"

"Well, if it makes you feel better, I'll say that it made me feel better after we talked about it."

"It would make me feel better…"

Dean yawned. "Good. I feel _a lot_ better now that we've talked about it." He grabbed his blankets back from Sam and lay back in his bed, trying once again to get to sleep.

"Thanks, Dean," Sam whispered. "I'm glad."

* * *

Okay. that's that. The last chapter will either be up tomorrow, or the day after. Until then, PLEASE review. They make my day.


	5. Chapter 5

ooooooooh, last chapter! Damn, I'm good. (lol, jk, jk. not good. fast maybe) This is the final chapter.

I would like to thank EVERYONE for the reviews they so cheerily dropped. Because seeing how I am a usually stoic kind of person, they just made me happier.

I still don't own our favorite show, no, not after all this.

FINAL CHAPTER! w00t.

* * *

The next day, the brothers were on the road, with Dean at the wheel. They weren't sure where they were headed yet, but neither of them had any doubt that they would know soon enough.

It was a few hours later when they had stopped for gas when Sam got to the point where all he could think about was how their father…how their father had made Dean feel… It made Sam so angry, knowing his father could be so insensitive when it came to his brother. And right now, more than anything, Sam wanted to let John know just how much he had screwed up.

He had gone to use the restroom a few minutes ago, and after he was done, and had left, he realized he was all alone. This was his chance.

He took out his cell phone, and knowing full well that he would only get John's voicemail, he dialed his father's number.

He was so ready, so prepared to leave John a long and terrible voicemail message when he was taken aback when he heard something different than John's normal _"This is John Winchester, I can't be reached._"

"Hello?"

Sam gawked in surprised silence. This had to be some sort of trick. He could _never_ reach his father—no one could. John must have seen that it was him, but then again, Sam never did give his father his new cell phone number…

"Hello?" John's voice came again, this time lined with irritation.

Sam took a deep breath, and prayed that his anger would give him enough courage to actually speak to his father about this.

"Dad, it's Sam," he finally answered, before John had the chance to hang up on him.

Sam heard John exhale loudly into the phone. "Sam… What is it?"

"I—I just wanted to…" Sam took another deep breath, allowing his anger to return in a hot flush. "I want you to know that you crushed Dean when you yelled at him like that! Why do you have to be such an inconsiderate bastard!"

There was silence on the other end of the line, and Sam didn't need to see him to know John was glaring.

"You _have_ to call him a failure! He's the one who follows your every order, does everything you ever say! He's the son you always wanted, a perfect hunter, and you're calling _him_ a failure!"

"Your brother is _far_ from perfect," John growled. "And I don't see why you called me, just to comment that it was wrong to yell at your brother. I _know_ what I did was wrong, Sam. I _know_ he's not a failure. He didn't fail……at least not yet."

"What do you mean?" Sam demanded. "What do you mean, he didn't fail _yet!_ Are you _expecting_ him to fail!"

"If you die," John said evenly, "then he will fail. He's made a lot of mistakes, but if he lets you die…"

"Why do you care so much if I die or not? Hasn't it ever occurred to you that maybe if Dean risks his life for mine enough, _he'll_ die? What would happen if _he_ dies? What if _he_ dies saving _my_ life!"

"Then I know he'd die a happy man, knowing that his little brother is safe, and that he finally did all he could."

"Bullshit!"

"Well, I know he'd be happier knowing that he'd die and not you!" John came back.

"Sam?" Dean came around the corner, looking confused after hearing Sam yelling from near the bathroom. He saw his brother on the phone, and then saw Sam's face. Dean set his jaw. There was only one person on the planet who could contort his brother's face like that.

"Sam," Dean repeated, his voice as hard as stone. "Who are you talking to?"

"Is your brother there?" John asked from the other end of the line. "I hear someone…"

"Like you care!" Sam shouted back.

Dean ground his teeth and walked up to his brother, daring him to look into his eyes. "Sam, you had _better_ not be talking to Dad. 'Cause I _swear_, man…"

"I shouldn't have to point this out to you, son, but I suggest that if you want to finish this conversation, you'd do it while Dean wasn't there," John advised.

"Don't you know how hard it is to get a hold of you? We've tried calling you before, Dad. So many times. And you never answer, even though I bet you were right there! So how am I supposed to—?"

Dean cut Sam off himself by grabbing the phone from his hand. "What do you think you're doing?" he hissed, his eyes flashing. He then brought the cell phone up to his ear. "Dad."

"Dean," his father returned.

"I'm sorry that Sam called you, sir. You know…you know how he can get sometimes…"

"What I don't understand is how he would get the idea to call me. I don't want you _or_ him calling me again unless it's an emergency, is that clear?"

"Yes sir."

"And stop putting stupid ideas into your brother's head."

"Yes sir."

"Because he somehow thinks that I've been a crappy father to you. I don't think you think that's true… Do you think that's true? Did I fail you?" John asked probingly.

"No sir," Dean answered. "No, you didn't."

"Good." And without further ado, John hung up in his traditional no-warning way.

Dean shook his head and sighed, handing the phone back to Sam. Without a word, he ran his hand through his hair and began to trudge back to the car.

Sam only stared after him, wondering if his plan to make himself feel better was just going to make Dean feel worse.

* * *

"What the hell were you thinking!" Dean demanded when Sam got into the car minutes later. "Calling Dad? Why would you do something like that, Sammy? Why would you do that if it wasn't an emergency? I can't believe you, man! What were you trying to accomplish?"

"I don't know," Sam answered sincerely. "At the time, I thought it was the right thing to do. I was just so pissed off at Dad, I just wanted to yell at him… So…"

"So? Just because you were pissed doesn't mean you have to call him up and _actually_ yell at him! You could've just imagined yelling at him or something… I mean, jeez, what could get you so angry? Been taking a trip down memory lane? 'Cause, Sam, I've been there, man, and it's—"

"It was because…because…" Sam glared to himself. "The way he treats you, Dean. It makes me so mad…"

"Why?" Dean questioned. "Why? Because you haven't noticed it before? God, this is _exactly_ why I didn't want to tell you what I did last night, because I knew something like this was going to happen! For the last time, Sammy, _don't_ worry about me! I don't need to take that crap from my younger brother!"

Sam looked down. "I'm sorry…," he apologized. "I didn't mean to… I mean, I just didn't…I didn't _think_."

Dean sighed. "Yeah, I know… It's fine."

"It's just that I get this feeling that you're still not… I mean, is it still bothering you?"

"I'm fine, Sam," Dean breathed. "How can it still be bothering me? I don't care about it anymore… I'm okay. _Please_ stop worrying."

Sam finally drew back, knowing that Dean would only say that if he was really better or it was worse than he thought. He decided to think it was the former rather than the latter.

He nodded to his brother. "Okay."

Dean let out a long breath of relief. "Thank goodness. I was getting sick of that girly crap. I mean, come on, the next thing we'll be doing is hugging, and then—"

"But, Dean," Sam intervened, "can you promise me one thing?"

"It depends," Dean responded, a suspicious edge to his voice.

"Please, promise me that if something is hurting you, you'll tell me," Sam said, his eyes pleading.

"But—"

"Promise?"

Dean was silent for a moment. _What's the worst that can happen? He's never going to find out about anything else I've got buried. What Sammy doesn't know won't hurt him._ He glanced over to Sam, mentally crossing his fingers and giving his baby brother a half-hearted smile. "I promise."

**END**

* * *

ja-heez, was that an apt ending?

Well well, now that it's over, feel free to still review the ending.

And coming tomorrow (i hope), I will post a Supernatural one-shot entitled 'Dark Places'. Deancentric, once again, featuring flash-back to cute little cuddly Winchesters! (...but angst...angst...)

please review...one last time... I hoped you liked it!


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